Description: El Fuerte, having defeated the two fursuited wrestlers with Brett, has taken it upon himself to fix up Raul's Taco Walk-O stand. While he fixes it in the dark alleyway, however, the ganglord Duke has cornered the Luchadore, to make the same threat he made against Brett. But without any known friends or family, what can the Devil take away from the Hurricane of the Gulf?
Being a superhero isn't all fun and games.
Now El Fuerte remembers why he didn't get into this line of business, there's a lot of paper work and collateral damage involved. Even if he had all the required tools, a mask, a secret identity, crazy wrestling super powers and of course, a justice oriented disposition, the reason why El Fuerte stuck to wrestling rather than go out into the streets to become a hero of the people is because, he didn't have to worry about cleaning up any messes.
Sighing, El Fuerte looks at his wrist watch, it's almost 22:00 in Metro City and he's still stuck in the alleyway where the crime scene took place a few days ago. He had told Raul, the owner of Walk-o Taco not to return to his stand until everything had settled in for fear of a second wave of attackers. More importantly, the taco stand was now utterly trashed and El Fuerte had taken it upon himself to fix it up before Walk-O Taco came back to business. Whilst the taco vendor stays at home with his cat Pounce De Leon, El fuerte tirelessly toils on fixing the taco stand.
Though he's still wearing his ever present mask, the luchador is wearing his 'out and about' wear, a sweat shirt and some running pants. He looks at his watch again, grumbling that he should be spending this time to practice his wrestling moves, or participating in the SNF before going to hammer at the stand again.
After a few more hammer strikes, the stand shakes a little and then crumbles.
Fuerte sighs. Perhaps this is his destiny, to go on eternally fighting against petty gangs.
"Perhaps it is best to leave what is broken alone."
The deep baritone from behind El Fuerte almost growls out. No malice hanging in his voice, the sinister depth of the voice cut right through to El Fuerte. Looming in the alleyway was the figure of a titan of a dark-skinned man. Dressed in an elegant black and red suit, he moves with a smooth, steady gait. His yellow eyes are fixed on El Fuerte, his lips curled, the beast of a man not certain of to make of the wrestler.
But he was blocking the closest exit to the alleyway.
"El Fuerte, I persume?" The man asks, stopping his advance. "I didn't think I would catch you in your casual wear. Still, you wear the mask. Always, you wear the mask." The tall, fierce-looking man adjusts his collar, breaking his gaze for a moment. "It makes it difficult to find you, El Fuerte. But I am wasting our time." Looking back up with those grim, yellow eyes, the dark-skinned man's voice rumbles in the alleyway.
"I have business with you, Lucha."
Hmm? Not fix what is broken?? But that would mean he'd wasted a whole day trying to fix the taco stand for nothing!
The deep grumbling voice catches the luchador's attention, but he doesn't seem to be startled by it. Perhaps its because there's no malice in the voice and doesn't sound evil right off the bat, perhaps he's just a really brave guy that doesn't hesitate when he hears a strange voice calling from the darkness. Or perhaps..there's something more about the mysterious masked luchador.
Interrupted from his work, the wrestler notices that there's someone asking for his attention and shrugs, dropping his hammer, might as well take a break. "That's me amigo! I am El Fuerte!" The fact that the tall man is barring the way out into the street seems to either completely elude him or he's simply unconcerned about trying to escape if he needs to. The guy is an acrobat after all, and insane, chances are he didn't even use the entrance to alley to get here.
"Sorry for the inconvenience, but a true luchador never takes off his mask!" Fuerte raises a finger calling out proudly, though somewhat distracted while he does since he turns around to give his back to the well dressed gentleman. He reaches down for his Corona, true Mexican beer, and pops it open to start chugging at it before looking at the man.
"Can I help you?"
He smiles and almost beams.
Even in the darkness his sunny attitude almost warrants getting sunglasses.
But Duke was not sunshines.
While there was no malice within the man at the moment, he was the shadow against El Fuerte's light. Grimly meeting El Fuerte's cheer with a stony gaze. Duke was a man of the night, not of the sun. Perhaps El Fuerte was simply an optimistic, outgoing man. A regular do gooder.
The kind of flame that Duke needed to snuff out.
"You can help me, El Fuerte."
The dark-skinned man's voice keeps an air of class through the rumbling bass of the voice. "This... Taco stand. Walk-O Taco?" Duke says the name with a hint of disgust. "You seem well vested into fixing it. Perhaps Raul is a friend of yours? Or perhaps you are simply a good man who seeks to do good things." Duke's eyes quiver, a small flare of the power and hatred gleaming from within the man.
"Like stop two of my men from showing him the need for insurance."
Truth be told there's no rhyme or reason why El Fuerte does the things he do. He certainly comes off as a regular do gooder, a bright beacon of light where there is naught but darkness. But does he have a reason why? Where does he get all his cheer from? /Why/ is he so cheerful all the time?
Maybe he's just crazy?
Crazed or not, Duke is right in deduce his true nature. The masked man's aura seemingly begins to fight off the darkness that the well dressed gentleman brings, as if his very presence offended him. Two sources of energy that cannot coexist with each other, like same sides of magnets repelling each other.
Fuerte draws back when Duke continues speaking in that dark tone, glancing at him with a curios face whilst he continues taking the odd sip from his beer. What is this guy talking about? Why does he want to know if Raul is a friend? He doesn't look like a reporter.
"I just don't like seeing food getting destroyed!" Exclaims the luchador as he shrugs his broad shoulders. "Besides, I'm a regular costumer of Walk-O Taco, I rather not let it get vandalized by--"
Gasps and realization.
"Your men!? You sent those pendejos here!? Why would you do that!?"
That is wrong and Duke should feel bad about it.
Duke does not feel bad about it.
Smirking slightly as El Fuerte joins two and two together, the broad man gazes towards the wrestler, taking another step. His rumbles shows just how unbad he had felt about it. "Food? That roadside trash is hardly worth the heartburn. But I didn't do anything." Duke audibly sighs as he forces himself to use the gangsters' street names. "Yogi and Smokey were simply planting the seeds where a businessman like me can flourish. People need to invest in insurance, to make sure their businessness and homes are not broken into... or apart. The trouble is, no one is afraid that accidents will happen by reckless street thugs. That is where Yogi and Smokey help me..."
"And where you get in my way."
The malice returns, the shadow struggling against Fuerte's light. Duke looms, the fiercesome, devilish figure totally confident in making the streets his own. There was only one thing in his way. "You have been working hard to keep the streets safe, El Fuerte." Duke begins, reaching within his suit jacket, and drawing out a newspaper. "And streets filled with vigilantes work against my business. I need streets of fear, streets of rage. Not streets of wayward loose cannons filling in for the cops. You and your partner, Brett. Poor, poor Brett. I offered him a plane ride back to visit his parents, to make sure nothing bad happened to them." Duke tosses the newspaper to the Lucha's feet, the headline of the grenade attack facing up.
"Looks like he was too late."
In the overpowering darkness that threatens to consume, El Fuerte's light still shines bright!
The wrestler lowers his gaze when Duke steps closer, his feet sliding into a wide stance when he shamelessly confesses his crimes, his hand still gripping at his beer bottle but ready to set it aside if he needs to. The wrestler frowns profusely, even with his mask on Duke can clearly see that, he can see his..recognition.
El Fuerte has lived this before, the deranged grin he suddenly gets betrays this.
"You exhort people from their hard earned money through threatening? That's not a business, that's just being a parasite!" The wrestler casually points at Duke with the tip of his beer bottle. "That's what you and all your kind are, well dressed parasites."
Downing his Corona beer to half after he's done reciting his heroic speech, El Fuerte rolls his eyes when Duke accuses him of working hard at keeping the streets safe. "Nah, hombre, I ain't no vigilante, this is just sort of my hobby. Problems like this seem to follow me everywhere and I just do what a good man should do."
The newspaper is tossed at him and the luchador kicks it up with his foot to catch it looking slightly confused.
"Brett?"
Who's Brett?
"Oh! The hockey kid! Yeah, that vato is pretty cool." His smile fades as he reads the headline of the newspaper, eyes quickly scanning it as if he couldn't believe what he was reading. Loads of expressions go through Fuerte's face; regret, sadness, shock, regret...anger!! And finally..
Boredom.
El Fuerte does something that not many would expect, he tosses the newspaper to the side and continues drinking.
"Eh! Looks like he missed!" Does he not care!? What happened to the heroic luchador friend of justice!? Instead of feeling righteous fury, the wrestler simply continues drinking his cheap beer like he doesn't have a care in the world, like if he hadn't just read that Brett's parents almost got blasted into smithereens.
"Let me guess, are you Damnd's boss too? How is his hand?"
"How cold blooded."
Duke speaks with a wicked smirk. "I am certain Brett shares your optimism. Damnd is doing well; nothing that his devil weed won't treat." The Don seems to add that last bit with an air of disgust. "But the trouble I am having, El Fuerte, is that I wish to look out for your family's benefit as well. But, it is the strangest thing."
"I can't find a trace of your past."
The brute of a man, the well-dressed parasite that El Fuerte identified, shakes his head grimly. "El Fuerte, of course, is a name that has traveled the world. But there is no evidence of the man behind the mask." Duke runs a hand on his beard, tweaking it thoughtfully. "But a man can guess. You have a need to fight thugs, for great justice. And you have a disgust of gangsters. Perhaps you come from a gang-riddled neighborhood. Perhaps your home was ridden with gang activity, and you responding by fighting back. That is a common reaction. But as a man who grew up on the criminal-ridden streets of Moscow... I know how tempting it is to join those. Perhaps you are not a vigilante who is avenging against gangs..."
"And perhaps a former member seeking redemption?"
The great brute of a man shrugs. "It does not matter. Your background is an utter mystery to me, El Fuerte. There is nothing for me to take from your past. You are, for the most part, seemingly untouchable. A masked vigilante. Perhaps I could unmask you to the world... Yes, that would settle the issue of you raising trouble on my streets. Unmasking the Great El Fuerte, perhaps before a crowd of all his fans." At that thought, though, Duke shakes his head, disagreeing with his own words. "But I cannot. I am a ruthless man, El Fuerte."
"But I would not be that cruel."
"Eh!"
El Fuerte shrugs again proving Duke of how ruthless he can actually be. Brett's parents, Damnd, the thugs that plague Metro City, he doesn't seem to care about any of that.
He doesn't seem to care about anything!
With sleepy eyes, the luchador casually leans to the side to rest on the remains of what once was the glorious Walk-o Taco, finishing his beer at last whilst he listens to Duke ramble on how he may know more about him that he lets on. El Fuerte makes a face and looks away, for a man who's always speaking so loudly he's remarkably silent about anything that deals with his past. He neither confirms nor does he deny anything, Fuerte just looks away. His past really does seem to be a mystery.
"And it's staying that way."
Grunts the luchador who simply smirks softly when Duke threatens to remove his mask publicly. The ultimate insult to any self respecting luchador. "Many have tried! All have perished--I mean failed!" Fuerte was getting a little too carried on his ruthlessness there. "But you annoy me with your curiosity about my personal life. Such is not for the likes of you to hear, or any for that matter." The wrestler now scowls, though he remains on his relaxed position, content to simply gesture towards Duke who has up until now refused to give access out of the alley, perhaps the only reason why El Fuerte hasn't simply just walked away.
"Who are you anyway?"
"I have many names."
Duke seemed to be nonplussed that El Fuerte was bored by the initmidation. The brute of a man learned long ago that intimidation was a courtesy for some people, not a tool of coercion. El Fuerte would not be bullied in the traditional sense. "Some call me the man that Hades spat out. Others call me the Hell's Executioner. Some even know me as the devil himself. But you can call me...
"... Duke."
Rubbing his neck along the fierce scar, he gazes down on the wrestler. "So you see, it seems there is nothing I can do to stop you, short of sending more and more thugs to defeat you. And in turn, you will beat them, just like you have with Damnd. ANd then you will eventually come on top, leaving me to deal with you personally." The hellraiser yawns, palming his mouth. "And then, you can return to your wrestling, continuing your career. It is too bad, really."
"It will be a shame what will happen to Luchadore wrestling in Metro City."
Strange is a word that has always followed the name of El Fuerte. Crazy is yet another word, weird, mad...insane.
Perhaps it's really true what they say.
You can't intimidate the insane.
"Hell's Executioner?-pffftt! AAAA HA HA HA HA!! OOOH HAHAHA!!!" Yet another unexpected thing from the man only known as El Fuerte, he throws his head back and laughs! Laughs out loud he does!
"You're not from hell amigo! I can tell you this because I've been there!" He points at himself with his thumb, sounds far too proud of this fact. "It's called Mexico! And I certainly didn't see your cara there, cabron!" With a manic grin, the wrestler straightens up and stares at Duke's evil eyes with eyes filled with lunacy. The light is still shinning, but it begins to fickle, blink rapidly, it's not the shinning light of justice that it was before, it's blinding epileptic inducing flashes of insanity.
This is why El Fuerte is not a hero.
He's insane.
"When you wake up early in the morning to get tortillas and see naked men and women hanging from under a bridge, when you hear that your best friend was kneeled on the ground and shot in the back of the head by a cop, when you have stared at the lifeless eyes of your own mother who's face has been skinned off her skull and wrapped around a soccer ball placed at your doorsteps. Then you can come here and TELL ME YOU'VE BEEN TO HELL YOU HIJO DE PUTA!!!"
El Fuerte THROWS his beer bottle at the side, scowling ferociously, taking a step forward and..
Just smiles.
Suddenly it's all too clear just /why/ El Fuerte acts cheerful all the time.
He's bottling some serious shit.
"Seņor Duke, the only thing that Hades spat is me." The wrestler just beams at this, looking extremely happy. "I am.. El Huracan del Infierno!"
"That's Hell's Hurricane by the way."
The wrestler feels like he is winning this argument and hasn't even lucha Duke, even more so when Duke admits that his petty thugs including Damnd will fail before his might, he has no reason why not to be happy and so he twirls. "You have nothing you can use to threaten me! NOTHING! HeheheAHAHAHA!!"
Or so he thinks.
"Wait what? What was that about Lucha Libre in Metro City?"
And the comes the laughter.
Duke does not lose his composure as he stares down the maw of madness, as El Fuerte lets out everything that was bottled up. The gangland wastes that was Mexico. Not even Duke would fool around with the cartels that operated on the border; at least, not without leaving a few grieving widows and vows of vengance against him. Duke only silently watched the madness beneath the mask pour out, his cold exterior enduring it.
And yet, a tinge of sympathy.
Duke did not have the rural-edge that El Fuerte had experienced. But he had Organizatsiya, the Organization, or as people in Russia knew them, Bratva. The Brothers. Duke remembered his childhood, where he knew of the bratok that pressured his family, the strange avtoritet that pressured his own mother. Duke admired the life of the Bratva from a young boy, where you could own the streets, and nobody, not even the cops could tell you wrong.
But this was business.
"Why, you must not have heard. There is a rumor around the ring. That it seems that a criminal boss has bought up several of the wrestlers, and has been... pressuring the Luchadores. Rigging matches, forcing them to throw fights, using them to smuggle drugs, money, even women. Of course, it is just a rumor. A rumor that won't need to be tested, El Fuerte. After all, can you imagine what would happen if it turns out that the corruption that Lucha Libre has infested this city with the seeds of crime? With the rumors of wrestlers on the streets, I might have whispered in the ear of some powerful people that it may be prudent to..."
"Suspend Lucha Libre."
Duke smirks, his devilish brows arching wickedly.
THAT IS NO BUSINESS!!
A business wouldn't put Lucha Libre out of commission in a city, Lucha Libre, which is perhaps the last sacred art left in the planet aside from cooking. Anything or any force that would dare threaten has lost all right of existing, it is fare from a business, it has ceased to be any good to humanity, it's just..
It shouldn't exist. Nothing in this universe should even joke about doing harm to Lucha Libre.
So in the end, there appears to be a reason to all the madness that is El Fuerte. With his only beacon of reason threatened, the shimmering light of insanity that had escaped him settles down and he's forced to listen to Duke, suddenly all to aware of his presence.
"Bastard..."
El Fuerte's eyes narrow. He shouldn't really have a reason to worry, if Lucha Libre gets suspended in Metro City he wouldn't be affected by it personally, he's not part of any wrestling organization as a professional fighter. He can still travel the world with the SNF or the NDP, hell, he's an active participant in the Devil Tournament for crying out loud, when you've moved up to that kind of level it means you've graduated from the WWF.
But Fuerte has never been one to listen to reason. Any city that is deprived of Lucha Libre, even Metro City, is his business.
When Damnd tried to sell drugs to children, it was annoying.
When Yogi and Smokey tried to burn a taco stand, it was infuriating.
When Duke threatened to ban Lucha Libre?
It was personal.
"You seem like a reasonable guy." Fuerte tucks his hands on his pockets, unwilling to be defeated by this uppity crook, who he still considers nothing more than a parasite. Many men would see Duke as a powerful man who is both feared and respected. Fuerte just sees him as a he would see a very large bug on his shower.
It's really gross and he needs to deal with him, but he kind of doesn't want to touch him if he can help it. So maybe he can just bribe it away.
"What are your terms?"
The trick when scaring someone out of town was to avoid aiming for the person. Aim for the person's support, the things they care about. People would sacrifice themselves for a higher cause. But the ones they love? It would be like cutting off their own arm. For Brett? His parents. El Fuerte, though, had one clear love that Duke saw he could crush: Lucha Libre. Duke saw two consequences: El Fuerte left, and he would have him out of his hair. But if he refused... then he would have to find his business elsewhere. There would be no demand for him in Metro City.
Win-Win, for the ganglord.
Duke continues his wicked grin as it sinks into the skin of the wrestler. He had struck a chord with the mad lucha. "My terms are simple." Duke begins, frisking out a Greyhound bus ticket. Showing it to El Fuerte. "This will take you out of the city, to Las Vegas. See the lights, wrestle with the best of them. Enjoy yourself. My terms are simple, though. And to that, I will be clear.
"Leave Metro City, and never come back."
Duke holds out the ticket, looking at El Fuerte. "You have 24 hours to get out of town. If you remain, well... I am sorry to say, you will be out of the job. And Lucha, well, may be associated less with 'Hurricanes' and more with 'Glow,' to say the least."
"Do we have a deal?"
El Fuerte walks towards Duke, his hands still on his pockets. In a way, his own lunacy is both a strength and a weakness. It was true that by forsaking a normal life style he couldn't bribed like a regular person could, he couldn't be reasoned in any normal way, not by physically hurting him, not by threatening a non-existent family, no nothing. But it was obvious El Fuerte still held something in very high regard, maybe he couldn't be threatened as Brett could. Threaten his Lucha Libre though? That's just as bad as if someone held his mom at gun point.
Fuerte really wasn't untouchable, he just had traded one power for another.
And it was because of that, that he truly felt as if he couldn't give in to Duke's demands. Would your parents want you to abandon your principles to save them? Would you betray everything you've been taught and give in to gangster's demands? To let him win? To stand by and do nothing!?
El Fuerte wouldn't be able to call himself a Luchador if he did, just think, what would El Santo do?
"No deal."
El Fuerte grasps the tickets and nimbly slides them down Duke's breast pocket, showing a remarkable amount of restrain for a person who is clearly mad. "You see amigo, Lucha Libre is more than just a sport. It's a way of life, and if there's anything that Lucha Libre has taught me is that Rudos like you never win."
Although the small wrestler is miniscule in comparison to the towering Duke, he still is looking up at him directly on his cold, cruel eyes. "You may ban Lucha Libre from Metro City, but you forget who it's mayor is. El Presidente Mike Haggar once purged this city of scum like you using nothing but the holy powers of wrestling. Lucha Libre may be gone, but it's spirit will remain in the hearts of the good people of Metro City and as my predecessor, seņor I took will rise up to the challenge and take down your organization, one by one, street by street. Until at last, I face you in the ring of Lucha." El Fuerte pokes Duke on his broad chest, his eyes still locked on his.
"And we have us our Final Fight."
The mad masked wrestler continues staring, fists clenched as he shows he clearly wishes to exit back into the street, but Duke is still on his way.
"Move."
Zero for Two.
A lot of dreams were gonna be broken by the Duke this month. As El Fuerte takes the tickets, and pockets them away, Duke's visage glowers fiercely. Anger surges forward. Duke knew that in this alleyway, he could smash El Fuerte in the ground. No one would miss just another wrestler. Hell, many victims of his cooking might even be grateful. The Duke, however, chuckles darkly, his anger subsiding as El Fuerte brings up Mike Haggar. "Then so be it. I can respect a man who can stick to his beliefs, El Fuerte."
"But understand, that this is only the beginning."
Duke steps aside, letting El Fuerte past, but leaving him with foreboding words. "Mr. Haggar may be a legend in Metro City, but I believe legends are doomed to myth, and ultimately are forgotten. Mike Haggar is old and washed-up, and as long as I don't lay a finger on his daughter, he is content to belt away on his phone, and let the authorities handle it. Mike Haggar does not frighten me, El Fuerte, and you are a fool to put any faith in him. And if you wish to fight my gangs, El Fuerte..."
"Then you will find yourself very alone in your fight."
Anger is met by a crazed smile. Even when backed into a corner El Fuerte still finds a way to irritate his opponents to no end. In the case of Duke, its not only refusing the tickets given to him, but bringing up Mike Haggar, a fellow wrestler and bane of all evil doers of Metro City and the world.
The luchador's fists clench when he sees the fury in Duke's eyes. If he wants to lucha him right there and then he is ready to throw down, be it in the ring or in the streets, El Fuerte will roll with the punches and find a way through, even if it's bloodied, bruised and beaten half to death. In his brown eyes, Duke will see the utter lack of fear, if any of the things he said are true, this is a man who has stared at a soccer ball with a flayed face wrapped around it. At one point, something inside him just snapped, it's why he has no fear of facing towering wrestlers like Hugo, or Abobo, just like he doesn't fear Duke.
El Fuerte stares directly into the fiery bowels of hell.
And doesn't blink.
"Gracias!" Chirps El Fuerte as Duke moves out of the way to let him pass. "Please, I wouldn't even /DREAM/ of calling seņor Haggar to fight small fries like you, he has better things to do, like working an actual job and not be a parasite." Fuerte places his hands on his pockets and shuffles out of the alley, guessing that Raul is just going to have to relocate, fixing that taco stand was way hard anyway.
"Really, with all the enemies you're making I would be surprised if there's not a small army of pissed off Lucha Libre fans at your doorsteps tomorrow. But that is beside the point.."
Once he's a good distance away from Duke, El Fuerte turns around dramatically pointing to the sky, his gear switching back from crazy near-psychopath gang scarred Mexican, to happy go lucky Luchador, the public face the crowd knows and loves.
"Because now you will deal with me Seņor Diablo!" He drops into a squat to gain momentum and LEAPS into the air, back into a building's rooftop where he bounds away.
"EEEEL FUEEEEEEEEERTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!"
Really, the luchador could have just /jumped/ over Duke any time he wanted and make a run for it. That he decided to stare down the Don toe to toe speak volumes of how clearly insane he really is.
Those who stare in the abyss, must know that the abyss can stare right back.
And Duke was staring.
Looking into those brown eyes, Duke didn't see fear. He saw what he always saw. A rebel without a cause, with nothing to lose. Duke prefer those types to work with him. When they side on the side of good... well, they become like Cody.
And Duke has plans with Cody.
People like El Fuerte are already broken. But broken people eventually burn out. Duke would wait for El Fuerte to have his tantrum. "A small army will be at my door, soon enough, El Fuerte. But you will find that they will not blame me for this."
"It won't be on my head, El Fuerte."
Duke waits until the wrestler fully slips out of the alleyway. And by slip, we mean SAILING FLYING LEAP! Holding there for a moment, he adjusts the ticket in his breast pocket. Reaching into his pocket, he draws out a cellphone. Dialing a number, he calls away. "Mr. Brown? I spoke with the vigilante. Get in contact with Slam Masters."
"There is some criminal activity we need to report."
Log created on 18:24:43 04/27/2012 by Duke, and last modified on 00:38:14 04/28/2012.